Waiting and Remembering
by SuzieQ57
Summary: Rory sits in the airport, waiting for Logan to get home from London for the last time, and remembers the year. Basically something like what I hope, and imagine, will happen in the next season. Oneshot.


**AN: **This is a oneshot, but it's pretty long. It is, in a manner of speaking, to make up for the lack of goodness of Logan in my other story. Rory is sitting at the airport in Hartford, waiting for Logan to get back from London for good, and remembering the past year. Also, the next chapter of the other story is going to be complicated and long, and I don't have time to get it up before I leave for the weekend. This one's written in the second person; hopefully you'll figure it out pretty quickly. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I can't even think about actually owning Matt Czuchry; I'll soak my shirt with drool!

You're sitting there… just waiting. You _hate_ it. Your mother, wonderful as she is, didn't bring you up to be patient. And yet, there's something sweet about it. A woman waiting for her man… somehow it connects you with women all over the world and down through the vastness of time—women waiting anxiously for the men they love to return from their travels, be they across an ocean or just into the next clearing. You chuckle. _Mom didn't bring me up to think about things like that, either. Much too much like Donna Reed for her taste,_ you think. Yes, it's a little Donna Reed-ish, a little anti-feminist, but it feels nice. It's not as if you're not still going for Christiane Amanpour, but a touch of the housewife isn't all bad.

"When does his flight come in again?" you mumble to yourself, just to hear a familiar voice. You check your watch and then the information on the printout from the airline. _Twenty minutes. Why do I always have to be early? _you think, exasperated with yourself. Well, it makes time for the memories.

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Those awkward days when you first knew him… him and his crazy friends… Hah—you'd argued in the small span of that first encounter, hadn't you? And the ridiculous stunt in… what class was that? Whatever… it was hilarious. And getting back at him… it really shouldn't have felt that good, but knowing that he would think you clever was extremely satisfying. And then, the nickname, and rooting around for info on the Life and Death Brigade. And the jump.

_One less minute I hadn't lived_… you remember. You think that was when it _really_ started, when it first clicked somewhere deep in your brain that he _got _you—that he understood your fears and needs and desires, that he knew what would fulfill you and how to give it to you.

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_Dirty_, you chuckle a bit. Yeah, well, in that way too. It's absolutely true. He's amazing in so many ways. Dean—sure, he was nice; sweet and pretty good-looking too, but he didn't get you like that. He was slightly awkward and inept; he couldn't just weaken your knees and heat you to the core with a kiss or two and a very few touches as Logan had so quickly been able to do. Certainly part of that was that he hadn't kept a harem as Logan basically had, but somehow you instinctively know that even had you both been virgins when you met Logan he'd have discovered you and your intricacies without difficulty or delay. Jess—perhaps it could be true that he'd have been as physically good a lover as Logan, but you know it wouldn't have been the same. Yes, Jess understood you better than Dean did, but he didn't have that intuitive awareness of all your deepest complexities. You shared many things with the brown-haired NYC bad boy, and everyone is human on the most basic level, but you weren't fundamentally the same kind of person as Jess, and he could never have made you perfectly happy. Logan knows you, to the marrow, and you wouldn't have it any other way with your man.

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That's why you jumped with him. That's why he was afraid of a stringless relationship with you. That's why he knew you absolutely weren't messing around when you decided it was commitment or nothing; that's why he understood why you wanted to take somebody else's yacht out for a spin; that's why he knew you would, deep down, hate being out of school for any significant length of time; that's why he knew things really weren't okay when you said they were after the incident with Honor's bridesmaids… He knew it all. He knows you as a person, just as Dean and Jess had, but he knows you on the more important, more intimate level of your womanhood. He understands your heart.

And you understand his. That's almost the most startling thing. Dean and Jess had nearly always been mysterious to you; sure, you understood them and what they were as people, but as men their realities eluded you. Now, with Logan, you are familiar with him; his maleness is no longer an enigma. You know what he struggles with and why; you know what he wants out of life and how to help him get it. You understand why he didn't want to go to London, and also why it was important that he went. On a subconscious level, you always understood why he loved jumping off of high things and playing wild pranks, gambling and pursuing women—including the bridesmaids. It's only gotten deeper, this knowing of each other, over the months he's been gone. You know that it's real, and that it will never go away, because it's already been tested and tried.

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Fidgeting, you scan the screen that lists the arrivals. _1838, 1838… Ah ha! There it is. _'Status: Delayed. ETA: 5:38 PM." _Crap. Fifteen minutes late. Now I have twenty-five to wait…ten minutes go by and my waiting time **increases** by five. It's just wrong._

You take out your book and try to read, but it's nearly impossible to focus. You gasp—it's like heresy! But you must admit it. Logan's homecoming is a more attractive path of thought than the book in your hands. _You liiiiike him, you think he's seeeeexy, you wanna kiiiiiss him…_you can just hear Lorelai talking. _Yeah, and a lot more than that… _you think, and your cheeks color.

"That's it," you mumble. "I'm getting coffee."

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_Tested…**yeah** it has been._ It had been so hard to have Logan so far away for the entire year. You've hated it, absolutely loathed and detested it.

You remember crying yourself to sleep the first few nights. The bed felt so huge and empty without him. It was much too quiet without the faint noise of his even breathing and occasional small murmurs. Jeez, you were even _colder_ without his arms around you and his chest against your back.

You remember the quaking inside you when you first saw his Europe cell phone number on your caller ID—whether it was from excitement or fear you never have figured out. A mixture of both, you suppose. You dreaded his calls at first but at the same time could hardly stand those that weren't from him. It's completely ridiculous now to think of being afraid of when he called—but it wasn't then. Your heart pounded to think that he might be calling to say he'd met someone else, that he didn't think the long distance thing was going to work out.

You remember the day you got up the courage to talk to him about that feeling. It was August, his first time back after being gone a full three months. His plane had arrived in the late afternoon (just like today; he always took flight 1838.) Then you'd spent an amazing night together…you'd barely been able to resist jumping his bones as soon as he stepped off the jetway…and after the lovemaking, you'd tentatively whispered to him of your fears.

You remember how amazed he looked when you told him that. He said he was going to hate himself for telling you this…but he felt the same way. You almost cried when he said that, and both of you said—simultaneously, spontaneously—"I will never find _anyone_ that I would rather be with than you." The conversation had quickly dissolved into kisses at that point, but you remember; it was important.

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"Venti dark roast, please," you say to the wonderful Starbucks man and hand him a few bills. There aren't many people getting coffee this time of day… _Crazy people, thinking caffeine at night is bad for you_… so your drink comes quickly.

"Thank you; have a good evening," the barista says as he hands you the blessed, warm paper cup.

"Thank _you_," you smile. _I **will** have a good evening_, you add to yourself. Getting to see Logan when you haven't since March qualifies any June evening as good. Purse in your right hand, cup in your left, you walk back to the gate where Logan's flight will arrive.

Lifting the cup to your lips, the sparkle on your hand catches your eye. It's been there awhile, so you don't consciously notice it so often, but you still smile every time you do.

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That August visit had been a good one. He'd only been home four days—Thursday through Monday—but it had been enough to refresh him and ease your heartache a little, although it could never have fully satisfied.

Seeing him for ten days at Christmastime had been better. Although…almost the whole of the last three days had been caught up in your fight.

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Finn had called to see if you and Logan wanted to get together with a bunch of the old gang in New York City the next day, New Year's Eve. Logan had said no.

"Why would you say no?" you asked him quizzically.

"I thought we could stay home and celebrate by ourselves," he smiled.

"You wouldn't consider that I might want to see New Year's in New York? Not to mention those friends of ours?" you said, slightly miffed.

"Look, Ace," he began, on the defensive. "I just thought it would be fun to spend a quiet evening with my girlfriend."

"Quiet?" you'd said archly. "Anyway, don't you think Finn and Colin and all the rest of the LDBers would like to see some of you before you clear out for Europe again?"

"Don't _you_ want to see more of me?" he parried, frustrated.

You'd become completely exasperated. "Logan, I've seen a lot of you, and it's not as if I don't want to be with you, but I _would_ be! I just think it would be _more_ fun to experience this once, especially together. If it's the sex you want, we can have sex just as nicely in a good hotel room as here. I'm twenty-two; you're twenty-four. New Year's at our age shouldn't be about a quiet, fun, sweet little celebration at home."

"Fine, if that's what you want to do," he said coldly, not looking at you, and picked up his phone to call Finn back.

"If you'd just talked to me before you gave him an answer…" you continued grumbling to yourself, and he actually glared at you. That gave you chills. You didn't really talk to him for the rest of the day; each of you mumbled sharp comments about the other's lack of consideration for other people's feelings;

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You'd ended up going to New York. It had been good to see everyone; you still couldn't believe that Finn had flown to the US just for three days to celebrate New Year's. The group had gone out for dinner, had a few drinks, headed to Times Square to see the classic dropping of the ball, and then went out to a club for dancing and drinking. You remember getting completely drunk, and that Logan had too much as well. You'd both been smoldering under the surface all day, the fire slowly getting hotter, and though you'd managed to keep it down while the gang were around, you slung subtle barbs at each other all night. Then the embers burst into open flame when the two of you got back to the hotel.

Remembering it, you cringe. _So hostile. I **so** didn't want him to go away again… I wanted to do something fun and normal with him, not try and savor every last second like someone was about to die. I was scared of him leaving again, so I was in denial about it… Might as well have lived in Egypt. I should have just stayed home with him. Then we wouldn't have gotten into that huge fight, wouldn't have cussed each other out like that…I'd have been able to talk to him for the next two days… I'd have been able to touch him for the next two days…_

So yes, you passed two days fighting. Somehow, you both had a buildup of volatile feelings; you were _so_ irrationally angry with each other. Fears about losing each other, about losing your love and your closeness and your understanding, crowded out logical thought and the New Year's issue was just the last straw.

Then it came so close to the time for him to actually leave—his plane was going out on the morning of the 3rd, and when he went to dinner with his parents—without you—the night of the 2nd, you broke down. You cried and cried and cried… and when that was through, you made a plan.

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Trying to avoid thinking of the plan you made…and its subsequent roaring success… you check the ETA of his flight again, and groan softly. _Delayed again! More waiting… it's just not fair. He needs to be here now…_

Your mind wanders back to your memories. _Hah… Mom was proud of me for that night._

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Luckily, you knew he'd be home that night, because he didn't want his parents to know that anything was wrong. He had told them that you were feeling under the weather in order to avoid their questions at dinner.

You ran through what you'd say to him, and then slipped into your sexiest lingerie and barely-there short nightgown. Nervously you sat on a chair near the door, straining your ears, and when you heard the elevator ping and his footsteps in the hall, you went up to said door and put your hand on the knob. His keys jingled as he pulled them out—you opened the door, wide, before he could and stood there looking at him.

It was all you could do not to cry, but you blinked quickly and smiled—apologetically, and then slowly and seductively. "Hey."

You feel warm just remembering the look in his eyes at that moment; it was raw expression of shame and remorse, which she noted first, and then… well, then the kind of look a 20-something guy gives his scantily clad girlfriend when he hasn't even held her hand in three days and is about to leave her for months.

"I'm sorry," you barely managed to get out before you leaned into his kiss. The rest of the words of your apology were lost in the heat of his mouth, dropped to the floor with the tangle of clothing.

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_Okay… I **really** need him to come now…_you can't sit still in your chair any longer. You've finished your coffee, so you get up to throw the cup away. Your face feels intolerably warm, so you head to the bathroom to splash cold water on your cheeks. You clearly won't be able to focus on your book, so it's back to the memories.

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The next few months had been so difficult. There was so much schoolwork, work on the paper, work for your mother's wedding, and no Logan to provide some fun and adventure to balance it all out. You talked almost daily, emailed more than daily certainly, but it wasn't the same. Still, it had been good for you.

Now, waiting for him and having all these wonderful things to remember, you wonder if your relationship would have made it if he hadn't left. Yes, there had been the obstacles of the bridesmaids and the accident and recover, but would you have survived together without this further baptism of fire?

You shudder at the thought. You don't know, but it didn't happen that way, so it's no use speculating on such horrible ideas.

A huge grin spreads over your face as you realize you're playing with the ring again. You catch yourself doing that a lot lately; it's become second nature to fiddle with it—twist it around your finger, slide it up and down…

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Amazingly, Logan had been home for five days again at the time of your mother's wedding in March. You don't quite know why Lorelai's wedding came to be in March—when she got together with Luke again in September, after the whole Christopher fiasco, it was going to be the next June, a year after it was originally going to be. But by December, they were apparently tired of waiting and decided that the first weekend of March would be enough time to get things ready.

You were, of course, the maid of honor, and Sookie and April were bridesmaids. You were so afraid that it was going to be awkward when Luke said Jess was going to be the best man, but you did the smart thing for once and told Logan right away. You talked it over, and, amazingly enough, he was okay with it. _Another issue that time apart settled—the constant competition and jealousy_, you muse.

He was to leave two days after the wedding, and you knew you'd be achingly lonely with him in London and Lorelai off on her honeymoon, but you put it out of your mind completely for that day. Your efforts paid off and you enjoyed it fully… it was a beautiful wedding and having your boyfriend there made it seem doubly so.

And then… the reception. It was crazy, absolutely crazy. Emily and Richard had insisted on paying for at least a good chunk of it, so it had been in one of the mansion-type places all the DAR ladies rented for their functions, but Lorelai had been involved in all the decorating and food and it was truly hers and Luke's.

Your heart quickens when you come to the spot in the memory that really begins to deal with the man for whom you're sitting and waiting. The bouquet toss.

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_Only a few minutes yet… just a little while. Hold on, Rory. You can do it, Ace,_ you instruct yourself, using his nickname for you to ease the impatience. Apparently it's not such a good strategy, as it only makes you think of him and his endearing quirks.

_I'm getting hungry. No! You can't eat now; he's probably planning on going out to dinner or something. But I'm starving! I'll just get a muffin or a scone from Starbucks_, you compromise… with yourself.

Once again, you show up at the Starbucks counter, and since you know you can't possibly get food there without something to drink, you get a cappuccino with your blueberry scone. Again the transaction is brief; you thank the barista and get back to your seat at the gate.

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You knew very soon afterward that Logan had fixed it, but it was still incredibly sweet. Of course your mom tossed the flowers in your direction, but you, being slender and unathletic, didn't know if you'd be able to grab them, what with all the young distant relatives that were there (most of Lorelai's cousins had teens, since they'd borne their children several years later,) and the friends of April's whose families Luke had gotten to know, but you did. You got your mother's bouquet and your boyfriend was at the wedding; it was more significant than you even knew at that point.

After the dinner and classic parts of the reception, there had been just a few that stuck around. You and Logan, Liz and Jess and TJ, Buddy and Maisy, Lane and Zach, a few of Lorelai's employees at the Inn that she'd befriended, a cousin or two and a friend or two of Luke's that he still kept up with (who knew Luke actually had a few friends!), some of the beloved but insane citizens of Stars Hollow… it was a good group and they had fun for a few hours.

Finally, the bride and groom had announced that everybody had to clear out soon, and the DJ said there'd be one last song. Logan asked you to dance—and as soon as you were out on the floor, you heard one of your favorite songs begin. It was "You and Me", by Lifehouse—not a really new song, but a beautiful one by a great band—and you and Logan had decided that it was _yours_ when he was at home in August and you laughed over how you kept hearing it on the radio, even though it was past its heyday. You smile reflexively at the memory of Logan's eyes twinkling at you as he spun you around the floor, such a good lead that you could follow even the quick rotary movements of his fast waltzing.

Then for a moment he brought you to the middle of the floor and slowdanced with you, doing small spins, and turns as a couple. As the song began to wind down, he suddenly turned you out and spun himself. You regained your bearings, and there he was—on one knee, pulling a small box out of his pocket.

Tears come into your eyes remembering it, just as they did then. You almost gasped when you realized what he was doing; half the people that had suddenly cleared to the edges of the floor actually did.

He had taken a deep, shivering breath and looked you straight in the eye with a gorgeous smile. "Lorelai Leigh Gilmore the Third… also known as Rory, or Ace…or, as your mom has instructed me to say, Droopy Drawers…" you had turned to your mom and rolled your teary eyes, "I've been intrigued by you since the moment I met you. I thought you were completely insane, and I still do…" everyone had chuckled… "but I guess it runs in the family…" he cast a fond glance at your mother, who stuck her tongue out at him (she was pretty buzzed by then), "as do your great looks," he had conceded; Lorelai had cheered, and you had laughed in spite of yourself. "Now, although you're crazy, like I said, you intrigue me, Rory, and what's more, you are the most beautiful, smartest, funniest, and generally most lovable woman I've ever met, or even could imagine. And it's taken me _way_ too long to decide to say this—but I love you more than anything, Ace: will you marry me?"

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You bite your lip hard, though that's difficult to do while grinning all over your face, trying not to cry. That was just one more piece of evidence of how he understands you—it was a beautiful proposal: sweet, but not out-of-control predictable and sappy; so many of the people you love best but not a frighteningly big group; at a time when you were definitely not expecting it but not when you wouldn't have a perfectly clear conscience about saying, and desire to say, yes to him—namely, he had let you see your mother gloriously happy and celebrate that with her before he did it, because he knew you would feel sad if you took this major step before Lorelai was settled.

It hasn't been so hard since March in some ways—almost all the difficulties have been resolved in areas such as jealousy—but you were sad to start making wedding plans without him actually being there. You consoled yourself with calling him about almost all the details and letting him help with details. It was disappointing, too, to be away for him for nearly your whole engagement, but neither of you wanted to wait any longer after he came home to get married, and it was feasible to have the wedding in June, what with the combined resources of Emily, Shira, and Lorelai on hand.

Of course, Lorelai has insisted that you get married at the Dragonfly, and indeed you wouldn't have it any other way. You smile, imagining Sookie right now already itching to get her ingredients together for the mountains of food she's planning to make, and Michel extremely angry because your mom and Sookie refuse to think about anything else at the Inn until after this weekend.

_This weekend!_ you marvel. It seems so sudden, and yet as though it has taken eons.

And suddenly, that sensation of abruptness mingled with interminable waiting repeats itself, and you realize that flight 1838 arrived at the gate four minutes ago.

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Quickly you stand up, blinking. _He's actually coming_. You can hardly for a coherent thought. The first couple of passengers come off the jetway, and you tense, knowing he'll be out within seconds because he always flies first class. Urgently you scan every face—and then there he is, tousled blond hair, clear brown eyes, smirking lips and all.

It takes your breath away to see him again, and you stand stunned for a moment before you run at him. Your eyes lock; he begins striding quickly toward you.

Before you can do anything else, his strong arms wrap around your waist and your slender ones circle his neck and you kiss him with everything you have.


End file.
